Report
by JackOwens1860
Summary: Parent's Evening is upon Bristol Middle School and Dick is waiting for Alfred to show up. When Bruce shows up instead,things get interesting...  Arguments, Father-Son bonding and character development, Dick's POV


**Author's Note: The story **_**Report**_** was never intended to run past two thousand words. In all honesty, this work was never intended for publication. I do not like the story or the tangent it managed to run off on for over a thousand more words. I hate it when Bruce and Dick argue. I like my stories to have neat endings, some sort of conclusive finish; arguments in stories mean the ending is rarely neat. However, since publication on this site is an exercise in writing for an audience and learning to accept criticism, I have posted this in an effort to better understand the process.**

**Because I do not believe this story to be of acceptable quality, I would greatly appreciate reviews, especially on the content.**

**Important to note is this is a one-off. Unless it has merit for a subsequent chapter. I am currently undecided.**

**It is parents evening at Bristol Middle School, Dick is left alone in the office, waiting for Alfred. Read on… **

**Report**

"Will Mr. Pennyworth be along shortly, Mr. Grayson? I only ask because the man is usually never late for these meetings."

I don't get it. Alfie is NEVER late for parents' night at school. He ALWAYS gets here, on time, as usual. I'm starting to panic. Not for my grades. My grades are awesome thanks to my two dads hounding me on my assignments. I'm just freaking out slightly because maybe something happened to Alfie on his way down. Jeez, could that man possibly be involved in a car accident with his driving style? Nah, not the sensible member of this household, probably just traffic. But…then Alfie's pretty much a human Sat-Nav; if there was traffic, the man would find a way around it. Could it be he ran out of ga- don't even finish that thought, Dicky. Alfie is organized to a point beyond scary, more efficient than a Swiss watch-maker who's also half-German…and a robot. So then WHERE the hell is he and why wasn't he sat down in the chair next to me ten minutes ago?

"He'll be along, Sir, he'll be along." I don't sound remotely convinced by what I've just said, and Mr. Keating can tell. I'm not a bad liar; I just can't help having doubts. Why doesn't he have damn cell phone? I could just call him and…no, he wouldn't pick up the thing when he was driving, thinks it causes accidents. I'd call Bruce, but the big guy's been out on 'business' for nearly two months. He imposed radio silence. For all we know, the Boss-man could be dead or dying somewhere in Europe. Even if he was, it still doesn't help me here. I need an adult. For once in my life, I actually need an adult.

We wait another five minutes. Pretty soon after, Mr. Keatings is due his next appointment with some other kid and his parents. I'm pretty mad right now. Alfie's not here and I look like a freaking latch-key kid. Mr. Keatings will probably scribble down 'family troubles' or something after I leave here all red-faced and embarrassed because my guardians couldn't bother themselves to show up. Even though Alfie's the one who's not here, this is definitely all Bruce's fault. His disappearing act makes it hard for me and my other dad to have a normal life outside of extra duties. We're always worrying about him and it never lets up. If the guy didn't feel the compulsive urge to save the entire world, if he just stayed in Gotham, things might be better. If he attended more meals, things would get better. But he doesn't. He just doesn't. Damn him.

"I'm sorry, Dick. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. I have another appointment scheduled in the next two minutes. I need to draw out the necessary paperwork." Mr. Keatings using my first name, my preferred name, is a sign of pity from him. I do not want pity from him. I don't want pity from anyone. I just want somebody to turn up and know I've been a good student this term. That I've worked my ass off for my grades and that I deserve some recognition. Leading a double-life is not easy when you're fourteen. Bruce doesn't have that trouble. The man's a thirty-five year-old billionaire who spends more time running around in tights than doing any work. He doesn't need an education, doesn't need a job or a social life or a…son…

"I'm gonna just wait outside for someone to pick me up." I say quietly, getting up from my seat. Mr. Keatings can see I'm one bad word away from crying. Stuff like this hurts, a lot. So he doesn't say anything; he just nods in understanding and leaves me to it. I get as far as the door when it suddenly swings open. Bruce is stood in the doorway. Considering he's been off playing detective non-stop for almost two months, the big man looks very well-groomed. He's clean shaven with immaculately combed hair and wearing one of his more expensive hand-made, hand-tailored Italian suits. I'm in shock. From the way the silence goes on, so is Mr. Keating. Bruce Wayne has come to Bristol Middle School for parents' night.

"Hello, Dick. Sorry I'm late. Business ran on." The big man says to me, squeezing my shoulder. I don't feel like bawling anymore. He smiles at me before turning his gaze on Mr. Keating. "You must be Mr. Keating. Alfred has told me much of your talents as an educator." Bruce pauses as he crosses the room where Keating has got to his feet before offering a hand, "Delighted to meet you."

Bruce makes people nervous enough with just his name. Add his ridiculous physical presence, that steely confidence and commanding voice, the man is capable of making you crap your pants. So Mr. Keating's doing quite well. He sounds a little shaky, overwhelmed by Bruce's stare at times, but getting through the report. Every time Keating sings my praises or gestures to an improvement in a particular subject, the big guy looks at me briefly with a small smile. One thing with Bruce is that all his big smiles are fake, for show only. It's the small smiles, the slight quiver of his lips or a smirk that are real, that really demonstrate the man's emotions. Right now, he is proud of me, very impressed with my report. It's rare that anything I do these days impresses him. Nowadays he sort of expects me to do impossible things because I've been doing them so long. It's the greatest feeling in the world to have the Boss-man's recognition.

Our appointment ran over. Mr. Keating kept them waiting though; this is THE Bruce Wayne after all, not your average run-of-the-mill parent. Everything's good with my schoolwork, my grades. Mr. Keating says I have a good chance at college and even university education with my current efforts. Bruce is polite and courteous enough, but he knows from my body language that I don't like Keating. If I show any dislike to anything or anyone, the Boss-man's natural response is to be suspicious. Because he trusts my judgment. Keating isn't a bad guy, not really. He's just a social climber, always aiming for the winner's circle of high society and being just left of centre. I don't like people whose only pursuit in life is to be rich and famous. It shows selfishness and a lack of basic morals. Bruce can't sense any of this from me, but he'll have already put pieces together. Observation is one of his many, many strengths. Before we leave that room, he will have the same opinion of Mr. Keating as myself. I don't even have to say a word; the man's the world's greatest detective.

A few minutes later, the whole thing's over. Keating has finished with the report and in-depth analysis, looked into his crystal ball about my future career prospects and bid Bruce good-bye. The big guy thanks him, shakes hands, gives a big smile and we leave the room. Everyone stares at us as we walk down the corridor. They don't say anything, just stare, some of them with their mouths open. They resemble goldfish looking out the bowl. I forget sometimes that Bruce is a celebrity and not just famous. People see him on the TV and around the city. His autograph is worth hundreds of bucks all on its own without having a multi-million dollar business contract beneath it. I forget that. Because I live with him. Because I know who he is rather than what he appears to be. And I know how hard it must be for him to be Bruce _Wayne_, instead of just Bruce. Because he has to act; he can't be himself in front of a camera or in a restaurant. That must really suck.

We're outside now. It's five below and I didn't take Alfie's advice to wear a coat. By the time we get to the big guy's shiny, custom-built Porsche convertible, I'm freezing my ass off. Bruce looks at me.

"Wish you'd brought a coat now, Dick?" He asks with a small smirk. I roll my eyes.

"Just open the car, Boss."

I sounded a little snippy just now. I'm lucky Bruce isn't fussed about me always being a gentleman; I'd get a hell of a lot more cold stares than I do now. He unlocks the doors and I pile inside. He's got something on the passenger seat. When I pick it up to throw behind my seat, I realize it's my coat, the really thick, warm one. Alfie probably told him. Probably. I put it on and jam my hands in the fleece-lined pockets.

"Seatbelt, Dick."

I take my hands out, put my seatbelt on, then put my hands back. What a chore. He fires up the engine and we get on the road. There's a silence for about thirty seconds before I say something.

"You could've called ahead and told me you were coming instead of Alfie."

"I wanted to surprise you."

"I felt like an idiot, sitting there. I was waiting for half-an-hour."

"I can only apologize, Dick. I only concluded the operation seven hours ago." I can't help being curious.

"Where were you?"

"Paris."

"This _Gotham_-based sex trafficking ring took you all the way to France?"

"Via Poland, Russia, Ukraine, Belarus and London. They'd divided their…merchandise quite effectively. It took me more than three weeks to locate all forty-five women and girls."

"And what, for the past four weeks you've been tracking them down one-by-one to bring back to the city?"

"Precisely."

What he's been doing, globetrotting to bring international criminals to justice, is extreme considering they only dipped their toe in his city. I think sometimes he takes his mission way too far. I mean, isn't this kind of situation why we have cops in the first place? Shouldn't he have just left it to the men and women whose jobs it is to shut-down these kind of operations? Sure, none of them possess his skill-set or mentality, but he is just ONE man, not an army.

"Alfie and me didn't know if you were alive or not. You've could've just sent a short message to the cave…"

"No. It would have compromised my position."

"Please don't tell me you went undercover in the gang."

"It was the only way to obtain the relevant information to save those women from a lifetime of prostitution."

"Did you at least wear flak or have some kind of weapon to defend yourself with?"

"No. Again it-"

"_Would have compromised your position_." Now I'm mocking him. My Bruce voice cuts pretty close to the bone and when I do it, it tells him I'm annoyed. He's quiet for several minutes.

"Is everything alright, Dick?" He asks with a faint hint of concern in his voice. He hasn't looked at me once. His eyes are fixed on the road. I look out the window, shaking my head.

"Just don't do it again. No radio silence. No stupid risks. If anything happened to you…" I trail off. I'm trying to imagine a world where the Boss-man has bought the farm. I can see me and Alfie standing over his grave, next to his parents. We're holding roses and it's raining. This world looks even bleaker than the one we live in now. Crime runs riot on the streets. I try my best to maintain order with Gordon and the GCPD, but it counts for nothing. They're not afraid of us. They know The Batman's dead; know they've won this war. I'm staring at the smoldering ruins of what was once Gotham City on the news. Alfie and I have relocated to somewhere on the East Coast, trying to pick up the pieces. There is no hope. All is lost. "I'd fall apart without you." I say a long time later.

"I'm sorr-"

"Don't keep saying you're sorry. Don't keep apologizing for doing things AFTER you've already gone ahead and done them. It's pointless and stupid. And it makes me feel like you think I'm just a naïve, little kid you can keep happy with promises and pretty words." I'm getting angry now; I almost never interrupt him. He's getting more than irritating though. This is the fourth time this _year_, he's announced the case has left Gotham and he's chasing it cross-continent. He always goes alone. He always imposes radio silence. He never announces his return; you just find him sitting in the cave or up in the house like he never left for six weeks. I'm sick of it.

"What do you want me to say then, Dick?"

"Promise me you won't go anywhere other than the city limits until next year. I mean, it's already November; you can wait a couple of months, right?"

"I cannot foresee-"

"_Future events before they occur. I am not clairvoyant, regardless of my rep-"_

"Enough, Dick." Now the big guy is snapping. An argument is pretty much a given at this stage, the only question is when will it blow-up?

"You are the worst parent in the whole world." I offer with massive handfuls of spite. He stops the car and stares at me in something like disbelief. "What the hell do you want me to say, Bruce? You're the best dad a kid could have? We both know it's more than an exaggeration. You give me nothing to work with. You're terrible with people, but you're downright awful with me and I don't think I can take it anymore."

Silence lasts for almost five minutes. He just stares at me, trying to figure out what I want to hear, analyzing what is needed to defuse this situation. For him, everything has a logic to it, a solution that can resolve any conflict, any issue. This doesn't. There is no solution for me, for our relationship, besides him completely changing his personality. He realizes this. So he says what I hinted at. "Are you saying you no longer wish to live with me and Alfred? Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"Unless you give me something, some reason to make me stay, then yeah."

"…"

Just from his eyes, the way they widened, he never expected me to say anything like that. Bruce doesn't reply with anything. Reality hits me all at once; he has no reason to make me stay, nothing to promise me. The Boss-man won't lie to me. He can never bring himself to lie to me. His integrity is too rigid to allow even a little omission of the truth. I feel numb as he stares at me, knowing he isn't going to give me any incentive to stay. I'm scared. Scared that, to reach him, to make him understand this isn't a game, I'll have to follow through on my threat and leave. I don't want to leave, but if he doesn't say anything soon to break the tension…

"You're not going anywhere, Dick. It's too late to leave now. I…won't allow you to." I blink.

"What?"

"I need you. Not as a partner. I need you as what you are, the only thing keeping me from falling into the abyss. You are the only reason I have left…for coming home at all. Without you…I would never leave the cave. I am only Bruce Wayne, when you are here. Without you, all I can be is Batman. Without Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne does not exist. I need you to stay. I need you."

Once, Bruce spouting such philosophical stuff would be enough to keep me quiet. But the answer, the perfect answer to what he's just said literally jumps out my mouth less than a second later.

"So ACT like you _need_ me. Don't take me for granted and sure as hell don't think that I'm easy to fix when you hurt me." Bruce frowns. I think he finally understands what the hell I'm raving about. I think he gets that I need him even more than he needs me. I think he gets I want him more than he could ever want me. Without him, I really would just fall apart. I think I've already started to, since he's been gone. Nightmares are worse. Patrolling solo is pretty daunting stuff for a kid, but I'm starting to feel shut-in too, like the city and its scum are closing ranks on me. My social life isn't too great either, because of Bruce. Because I can't stop worrying about him. Maybe he can finally see the desperation in my eyes. Maybe.

"Tell me what you want, Dick. Please, just tell me." He says it like I've suddenly got carte blanche to set whatever ground rules I want. But I don't want a set of rules, terms and conditions. I don't want a relationship with him based on a schedule or a routine. He has to figure out some time I'm just a damn kid and I just want him. I just want this guy, this ridiculous man to love me. I want him to enjoy being with me. I don't want a super-dad. I just want Bruce. When I open my mouth, I hit the ground running.

"Just freaking BE there for me when I need you, when I goddamn WANT you too. I don't ask the Earth of you, just that you don't stiff me at every opportunity."

Bruce just nods. "Okay." That's all he's got. He starts the engine and we drive off again. I didn't expect anything human from him. He was never going to hug me in this car. He was never going to vow to make a change in his priorities. This isn't just a man in the car with me. It's also a myth, an urban legend. The Batman is the world's greatest crime fighter because he seems less than human. To become Batman, Bruce had to strip away certain parts of him. To develop his mind to its current unsurpassable level he had to cut away any distractions, including emotional attachment. That's why the fact he loves me at all is something of a miracle. That's why it's hard for him to see past the logic and formulae. So I try superficial conversation, something we both excel at.

"Thanks for bringing my coat. I was freezing my butt off out there."

"We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

"I don't know. I might look better without my butt."

"Probably be quite painful to sit down though."

"You've got a point."

"And you've got an active imagination."

"I got hundreds of talents."

"And how many of them would only serve to impress juveniles?"

"Ninety-nine percent."

"I see. And the other one percent?"

"To impress you. That talent is my studying ability. It's pretty good right?"

"Your grades have never been higher I believe."

"So, are you impressed?"

"I'm always impressed by you, Dick. You're an exceptional young man."

He always has to ruin it, by saying something _meaningful_. He knows he's doing it. He says things like that on purpose, to shut me up. He knows things like that make me feel so happy that it's hard to stay mad at him. It's yet another one of his strategies to combat teenage rebellion and angst.

"So just say it." I tell him.

"Say what?"

"What I want to hear and I'll forgive you." When there's a long pause, I think maybe he really doesn't know what I'm talking about. Come on, Bruce. I'm fourteen and unhappy; what would you want to hear from your parents if you were me? Just three little words to make sure I'm still important to you, that you still care.

"I love you." He says looking at me. I look over at him and smile. That's it really. I'm still a kid, but not a child anymore. Don't say you're sorry to me; don't apologize for being an absolute ass. Just remind me that you love me. That way I remember why I love you. It's not hard to have feelings, but for Bruce it's a hell of a mission to show them. Saying stuff like that more often helps me remember he's not that far from human after all.

"Thank you."

**Endings are frustrating.**


End file.
